The Hall Of Empty Melodies
by atreriaestus
Summary: Demyx knows they're all going to die.


A/N: Well, time for another drabble. I guess this is just my take on how The Hall Of Empty Melodies could've gotten its name (that doesnt' involve Xigbar x Demyx XD). I love writing interactions between Xemnas and Demyx--because they must hate each other so ... freaking ... much.

Disclaiminess: I'm not Nomura or Squeenixney, therefore do not own any characters.

Rating: Teen, only for references to death.

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"_It would be a nice place to die."_

That was the first thought that crossed his mind when he entered the unnamed chamber between the vacant whitewash walls. It was airy, had whimsical feel to it, all a-bundle in the irony with spots of black on the white.

One entrance looked like it had white wings above it. That door led to further danger, deeper into the stronghold and in the clutches of the more … regal members. The other had black wings and led away, back to safety, back to familiarity. Again with the irony.

And even more amusing was the fact the entrance with white wings above it looked like a face—a snarling face, with furrowed brows and a gaping maw to devour any forth comers.

Any assumption of seeing a sun when a gaze went upward through the windows was repulsively disappointed. There were only columns of marble, like hands reaching for salvation, and the sickening swirls of purple and blue and black, like a festering wound, a bruise sucking the life of the sky—of heaven—away.

But the most laughable of it all? Standing on the axis, a droplet of a kingdom could be seen: a droplet not worthy of joining the rains, but one that would fall like precipitation, nonetheless.

"You are not surrounded by your customary cloud of bitter litanies and false pretenses, Number IX," was the chide in all the silence of the vast room, and the spoken-to rose his eyes to the balcony above. The warm glow of orange eyes on a not-so-warm face greeted him.

He went to retort with displeasure to his number, paused his lips in consideration, and instead just nodded.

"I would venture that something is bothering you."

"We're all going to die, aren't we?"

The musician could somehow sense his question had caught his most Superior Officer off guard, but he made a snide mental note that he hid it very well. Posture did not change, mercury brows did not raise, nor did his eyes even shift the slightest. He was a man of royalty, a man of poise, and he would not be denied.

"Conceivably. Everything must come to an end, no matter how euphoric or desolate."

Of course, Demyx knew, he wasn't thinking of himself when he made that statement. Blue waves turned to ice, respect drifting out to be lost at sea behind the dispassionate hues … but he did not respond. He could not respond. The only words he wanted to say were those of disrespect, let alone treason. He turned his face away, looked back to the ailing heavens with his features set in a stern scowl.

"Do you wish me to grant you that?" All of a sudden, the voice was on his neck, away from that dangerous ledge. He felt the imminence of death crawling on his skin, grew cold in the primed man's shadow.

"I would. I would like to die here." The youth about-faced, hard-eyed and angled, unafraid of the man hovering him, much to both of their alarm. The eldest dismissed the confidence for synthetic anger, folded his arms behind his back and began a trek. He circled his constituent, and Demyx had the creeping feeling of being prey.

"You are a loyal member of our Order, Nocturne. I see no reason why I cannot grant this aspiration." The male's steps paused before him once again, a single, large hand going to his shoulder in what the artist presumed was supposed to be fatherly grip … but there was no kindness, and certainly no filial piety.

He bowed. He wasn't really sure why--he had never bowed to Xemnas before, nor seen anyone else. Maybe it was to get away from that touch, or maybe it was because it just felt right at that moment. But for whatever reason he did it, his Superior seemed pleased. He fingered the boy's chin, rose his gaze up.

"Let us not dwell on death, boy. If plans are seen through, no more will perish, and we will have our hearts once again."

"Of course, Sire." No hesitance.

He was released, and Demyx made a point not to look relieved. He nodded to the dismissive wave he was given, took his leave, maybe regretting somewhere inside that he was no longer able to bask in that room's counterfeited grandeur.

It hadn't taken him long to discern his ascendancy's intentions: he would not get the honor of dying in the most beautiful room of all the castle--he was not worthy of it. He was not beautiful as it was.

But the next day, Xemnas announced the name of that room at last: The Hall Of Empty Melodies.

And perhaps … perhaps that was honor enough.


End file.
